Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

The chocolate was stale.

Cracked. Nearly white around the edges.

But it was real.

And for the first time in months, Milo cried.

They'd found it tucked inside a supply drop bag buried in an overturned FEMA truck—half-crushed under a fallen billboard that once read "Life Will Be Sweet Again."

The irony wasn't lost on them.

Tess pulled the wrapper open with the precision of a bomb tech. "This is... Swiss. Pre-collapse."

"No way," Milo muttered.

She broke off a piece and held it up like treasure. "Way."

They each had one square.

It melted slowly on the tongue.

Dark. Bitter. Slightly burned.

It tasted like memory.

"I forgot," Tess whispered, her eyes glassy. "What this was like."

"Food?" Milo said.

"No—pleasure. Safety. Something simple that doesn't come with blood."

He nodded.

"I haven't eaten something without checking for infection since..." She trailed off.

He didn't ask.

Some things were better left buried.

She handed him another square.

He hesitated.

"You sure?" he asked.

"I'm not hoarding sweetness anymore," she said. "That was the old world."

They sat beside the wrecked truck, surrounded by rust, rot, and the smell of ozone after a distant lightning strike. Yet for a brief moment, the apocalypse didn't taste like ash.

It tasted like hope.

Like sugar on the edge of survival.

After they ate, Tess leaned her head on Milo's shoulder.

"You know," she said, "when this all started, I told myself: survive first, feel later."

He glanced at her. "And?"

"I'm starting to think the feeling part is survival."

He didn't reply.

Just reached into his pocket and pulled out something small.

A wrapper.

From the chocolate.

He folded it neatly and tucked it into her journal.

"Why'd you do that?" she asked.

"Because I want to remember that this day existed."

They moved on a few hours later. The road was long, the air heavy, the horizon full of smoke.

But something between them had shifted.

They smiled easier.

Walked closer.

Laughed once.

Later that night, Tess lit a candle inside the shelter and scratched something into the wood wall beside her bedroll.

Milo saw it the next morning.

Just two words:

"Sweet Enough."

Because sometimes, survival isn't about killing.

Or running.

Or even fighting.

Sometimes it's about tasting life again.

Savoring something small.

Letting the world in, even when it tries to shut you down.

Because love in the apocalypse isn't just about staying alive.

It's about remembering what made life worth living.

Even if it's just a bite of chocolate.